


Return

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship-break-up, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pining Draco Malfoy, Rebound Relationship, Romance, Valentine's Day-esque, amatonormativity, lonely Draco, rated mature just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22802614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: For a while, Draco had Harry. In a sense: they were flatmates, and sometimes they shared a bed.But then, Harry found Someone, and Draco moved out, and they drifted apart. Dracotrieddating, he did, but he wanted too much, it just never worked out.In the end, there was only one person, romantically, for Draco. But Draco didn’t think Harry felt the same way in return.Until, one day, Harryreturned.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 55
Kudos: 820





	Return

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn’t meant to be a Valentines fic, but it kind of is, just a bit late. It has a similar feel to my not-a-valentines-fic-but-kinda one from last year around the same time, [Lost Among And Falling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758301).
> 
> Also, warning for talk about amatonormativity, i.e. where romance and partnered intimate relationships are prized over other relationships.

  
  


  
  


  
  


For a while, Draco had Harry. In a sense.

They were flatmates, and sometimes they shared a bed for a short time. Draco tried to give him everything, to love Harry in bed the way Harry needed. It didn’t matter what Draco preferred; that was overridden by his desire to care for Harry.

But Harry never went on dates with Draco. Draco was the one who smiled, who gave a second opinion on outfits and encouraged Harry that, _they’ll love you_. Draco was the rebound, the one he returned to after a bad date, after a breakup of a short relationship.

Draco was the secret, and he was never worth more than that.

  
  


It was inevitable that one day, Harry would find a steady, long term partner. It was inevitable that the two of them wanted to move in together.

“I’ll move out,” Draco said. “The flat is too small for the three of us. That way, you could have the entire place and not worry about me.”

Harry didn’t deny it. “We’ll keep in touch,” he insisted.

So Draco moved out, and Harry’s new partner moved in. Draco _did_ wait, but not for long: They ‘kept in touch’ once: a short coffee in which Draco learnt that Harry was happy.

After that, Draco tried actually dating other people. He tried to love them earnestly, tried to show them that he cared by giving them the world.

But, “ _You’re too much, Draco_.” And they would leave, again and again.

Draco wanted too much, gave too much, was _too much_ , too clingy, too cloying. It was then he understood that Harry must have felt the same way. Harry never wanted Draco because Draco wasn’t worth the want.

Draco stopped dating after that. It was pointless. If, and when, the time came for him to have an heir, he’ll just find a surrogate. Even better—he’ll just incubate the child himself with the new medimagical technology.

Slowly, his friends drifted into partnerships or other romantic entanglements. He still had them, but more often than not, he had them _and_ their partners, and there was no longer the private space for him to share with those who were his _friends_. None of his colleagues shared his interests, and Draco could no longer bring himself to pretend to share theirs.

And so, in the end of it all, Draco was alone, and the years passed.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


It was a cold, cold day when Harry appeared on his doorstep. Draco had given his address to Harry as a courtesy, a hope, but not a hope he ever expected to _fruition_. Yet Harry was there, eyes red-rimmed. He had broken up with his longtime partner, and he...

Draco knew then, what Harry wanted. What Harry needed. Icecream, warm blankets, and sex.

The next morning, Harry was gone again, and it felt like a dream: Harry had not even stayed long enough for his scent to linger.

Draco broke down that morning. It just all came crashing down on him. How little he had. How little care there was left for him in the world. He could floo his friends...but he was just a distraction in their busy lives. He could talk to his colleagues, but they were never close enough for that kind of non professional relationship.

He could get a cat, but why torment it when it could have a loving home with someone else?

Then Harry appeared on his doorstep again, late at night. Draco knew what Harry wanted, and Draco was weak and soft because he let Harry in once again, only for Harry to leave and rip Draco’s heart again. Draco never had the chance: Harry was gone before he woke.

A secret. A dirty, unworthy little secret. But Draco was Draco, and he was too much, and that was all he could ever be for someone.

With that, Draco took off to the coldest, windiest part of Scotland, rented out a hut in the middle of nowhere for a few nights. For a brief while, he felt _less_ lonely in the desolate, beautiful-in-it’s-own-way landscape. He was alone, but there was no crushing _reminder_ of it.

When Draco returned, nothing had changed. No one had missed him. Work went on as usual.

But then, Harry appeared on his doorstep _during the daytime_ , just as Draco was coming back from work.

“Coffee? Tea? I have cake,” Draco tried to offer.

“You learnt how to bake?”

It wasn’t as though Draco had anything better to do. Harry had some earl grey chiffon, and he didn’t seem to like it very much.

Draco could only sigh. “Shall we head for the bedroom?”

Harry put down his tea mug with a clatter. “Why is it always _sex_ with you?”

“It’s the only thing you want,” Draco said plainly. “You never needed more from me. You had your dates, your friends, your family. What else could I offer that they hadn’t already given you?”

“What do _you_ want?”

“More than anyone can give me. More than anyone wanted to give me.” Draco looked in Harry’s eyes: Harry looked frozen.

 _See, Draco? You’ve already said too much, asked too much_.

Draco stood up. “Shall we head for the bedroom? Or else I’ll make dinner. You probably have dinner plans—this is your weekly night with your friends, isn’t it?”

“I’m—” Harry faltered a moment. “I’m not talking with them right now.”

“You should,” Draco said gently. “Your friends love you. Go have dinner with them, and talk it out, whatever it is.”

Harry stood up too, a look in his eyes. “And what about you?”

“Yes?”

“Do you love me?”

Draco looked away. “Of course I do,” he drawled, affecting nonchalance. He hurried into the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients for one of the more complicated recipes.

He didn’t expect Harry to follow him. He didn’t expect Harry’s tight hug around his waist, face buried in Draco’s back.

“Don’t—Harry. Don’t do this to me.” Draco leaned into the counter, but Harry’s hold tightened.

“Why didn’t you _say_? Why didn’t you _stay_?”

“Don’t, Harry. Don’t make me say it.”

“ _Draco_.”

Draco remained silent. He was afraid that if he talked, his eyes would start watering and then Harry would _definitely_ leave then—unless Harry thought he was pitifully, and that would be _worse_.

“Hermione said...Hermione said you have to communicate,” Harry said quietly. “But Luna said that people have different languages of affection.”

“ _Affection_ ,” Draco choked out.

“She said that some people don’t _say_ it. That communication is more than what is said.”

Harry’s arms were firm around his waist. How long had it been since Draco had sustained touch? Draco sucked in a rattling breath. Breathed again, and purposefully moved to the side, loosening Harry’s hold. Purposefully started preparing dinner.

“We don’t really know each other, not anymore,” Draco said. “Go to your friends, Harry. Don’t ever neglect them. They’ll worry. In fact, I’m sure they’re already worrying. I know how you three hate fighting.”

“But...what about you?”

Draco turned to face Harry, and managed a calm expression. “What about me?”

“Yeah, what about you?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be here...after your dinner.”

“But you weren’t!” Harry snapped. “You just—disappeared for days, and there was nothing!”

Draco faltered. “Pardon?”

“You weren’t _here_.”

“Did you check my workplace? Did you ask my mother?”

“...No. But you still work in International Relations, right?”

“I transferred into Mysteries over a year ago.”

Harry looked stricken. “ _What_? I didn’t know that! You didn’t tell me!”

Draco nodded. “I study death.”

Harry rushed a hug around Draco, and squeezed tight. “Draco!”

“I’m not going to die soon,” Draco said, patting Harry on the head. “Death is just the other side of life.”

They stood like that for a long time, Draco in Harry’s arms, Draco’s fingers in Harry’s hair.

Harry pulled away first. “I’m going to dinner with Ron and Hermione. Then I’ll come back.”

“Okay,” Draco said, and smiled calmly.

  
  


To Draco’s surprise, Harry came back. He thought Ron and Hermione would have reminded Harry that he had better things to do, but he was back. And he had an overnight bag too.

“What do you usually do after dinner?” Harry asked.

“You’re here.”

“Draco.”

Draco sighed. “Listen to the Wireless, occasionally.”

Harry nodded. “So let’s do that.”

So Draco made them both spiced infusions and set the fire crackling and turned on the Wireless. There was a mystery thriller serialisation going on, but for all Harry’s intent expression, Draco doubted Harry understood anything.

Sighing, Draco turned it off.

“I was listening,” Harry tried.

“What do _you_ usually do after dinner?”

Harry crossed his arms. “This is about _you_.”

“Why?” Draco shook his head. “You’re my guest tonight. What would you like to do?”

Harry was planning something, that much was clear. That he wanted sex, but didn’t _want it_ with Draco was clear. Which meant Draco didn’t understand why Harry was _here_ instead of at home or with his friends and family.

“Tell me about your job,” Harry said.

Harry was planning something, but he wasn’t telling Draco. So Draco told him a bit about his job: the mechanics of it, if not the research. But then Draco returned the question—was there something about Harry’s job that was on his mind?

But Harry’s work at Magical Games and Sports was going well, and the Department recently had increased funding to support a wider range of sports, and aside from the increase in work, Harry still found it enjoyable.

But then Harry asked Draco yet another question, then another. About Draco’s friends, about whether Draco heard the latest Quidditch match between the Tornados and the Arrows, about what Draco learnt to cook.

“You’ll have to make me crepes tomorrow morning then,” Harry said, a jokey-smile on his face. “I don’t think they’re _that_ different from pancakes.”

Draco leaned forward, chest tight. “You’re staying till morning?”

Harry pressed his lips together, and glanced at Draco through his lashes. “If you want me to.”

 _But do_ you _want to?_ Draco didn’t ask.

Sometimes, but not often, Harry used to sleep—just sleep—in Draco’s bed. Short naps, where Draco was just a warm body, a state of sleeping Harry had been used to before he and his latest partner broke up. And some of those times, Harry would hold Draco in his arms, and Draco would pretend that Harry wanted him, instead of missing someone else.

Right now, Draco laid stiffly on his back while Harry shifted around for a comfortable position. Once Harry stilled, Draco _nox_ ’ed the lights.

Draco couldn’t keep his eyes closed, though. His eyes adjusted to the dim lights, to the outlines of objects. Harry shifted.

Draco wasn’t comfortable. He sighed, and was about to roll over away from Harry, when Harry touched his arm. The touch was too brief.

“Yes?” Draco whispered. “Are you cold? I could retrieve another duvet, or activate the warming charms.”

“Do you want to...” Harry tugged Draco’s arm now, laying it over his side.

“Oh,” Draco breathed. His heart was too large, chest too tight, as he rolled over and wrapped his arms around Harry. He held his arms loosely. Harry was so close, in the quiet calm of the night.

Then Harry grabbed his arm—and cold fingers gripped Draco’s heart—and Harry tugged him _closer_ instead of pushing him away.

Draco swallowed heavily. Harry was allowing Draco close. Draco had permission to hold him close, just for the night (so close to his heart).

_Can I have this?_

It was too much. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed Harry in his arms. Harry’s fingers traced across Draco’s hands, tangled his fingers in.

 _Just for tonight_. Draco wanted to remember this for as long as he could, but eventually he fell asleep.

  
  


Harry was still there in the morning. Draco got to see him in that early morning light, just woken up, _right there_ , not across from the hallway in the morning when they were flatmates and both rushing to get to work. Not across from the hallway in the morning when Harry had just returned from a night’s tryst.

“Wah—Draco?” Harry’s voice was hoarse and scratchy with sleep and too endearing to bear.

“I promised you crepes,” Draco whispered, and regretfully disentangled himself from Harry.

And as promised, Draco made Harry savoury crepes and sweet crepes, and they talked about toppings and the weather and Harry’s plans for the day. And then Harry left.

  
  


“How long?” Harry asked when he _came back_ in time for dinner.

“Long,” Draco replied.

“Yeah.” Harry slumped. “Why didn’t you say?” His brows tugged together. He stepped closer.

Draco smiled to make Harry feel better. “We were flatmates already. I wasn’t your type.”

“I don’t have a type!” Harry scowled.

Draco snorted. “You _do_ ,” he said. “Short haired; the fluffier, the better. Warm coloured eyes. Warm coloured skin. Equally disastrous fashion sense.”

Harry looked down a little. “You’re not as cold as you like to think you are.”

“What did Weasley call me—an albino peacock, but more repulsive?”

“That was—Merlin, Draco—that was _years_ ago.”

The point stood, in Draco’s opinion. They had never become friends with each other’s friends. Draco hadn’t wanted to—he had enough friends already. All of them partnered, just as Harry’s friends were.

Inwardly, Draco berated himself for the maudlin thoughts. “How was your day?”

And they talked a bit. And then some more. Harry’s foot brushed against his under the dining table. And after dinner, and Draco didn’t know _how_ , Harry convinced him to go for a walk with him.

“I saw a big park nearby,” Harry insisted. “It looks good.”

Draco had never been, and once Harry learnt that, he all but dragged Draco out. They had been walking barely a few minutes before the sky went dim, and a park ranger came round shooing everyone out of the park so that they could lock up.

“ _Ugh_ , why do they close parks?” Harry grouched when they exited the park, his cheeks flushed dark with the cold. “Let’s just go for a walk anyway.”

“Ah yes, unfinished developments and old council flats. A fantastic view,” Draco said. But then Harry hooked his little finger with Draco’s and Draco could no longer find a complaint.

He tried not to glance at Harry. He tried to do it under the guise of looking for traffic whenever they crossed a road. But then he met Harry’s eyes, and their fingers tangled, hands clasped, and Draco _moved_. Moved closer. Other hand rising to cup Harry’s cheek, to tug aside his glasses for a moment. Lips pressed in.

Harry moaned. “Draco,” he mumbled, grabbing Draco’s arm. He tilted his head, the kiss deepened.

A bunch of teenagers wolf-whistled.

“Oh, go to bed!” Draco told them. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” He squabbled with the teenagers, damn kids.

And Harry started _laughing_. “Oh _Merlin_ ,” he mumbled, hand twisted in the fabric of Draco’s coat. “Don’t you feel so _old_?”

“I’m becoming more _distinguished_ ,” Draco said archly. But Harry just kept laughing, and then Draco cracked a grin too, and decided it was time for them to go home.

  
  


One day, Draco sent an owl to Pansy, along the lines of, _Darling Pansy, it’s been a while. Fancy dinner?_

Her reply was along the lines of _yes, of course. I’ll contact Blaise and Greg and Theo and Millicent and Daphne. I could host it—it’s been so long since we had a party_.

Draco was about to agree. It would be easier. _Nicer_ of him. It would be a party, and there would be plus-ones and friends of friends. But that wasn’t what he needed.

 _Darling, a quiet dinner is preferred_. _Just you, my old best friend_.

Pansy flooed over rather quick after that. “Draco? Are you alright?” she asked, and hugged him tightly.

“Merely a long time since I’ve been able to talk to _you_ ,” Draco said. “Would you like some tea? I made cupcakes.”

“You _bake_? But there was—the New Year’s Eve party. Remember?”

“You were stuck on your partner’s side,” Draco said gently.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “But you _like_ her. You two get along!”

Draco placed one type of each cupcake on the tray with the tea and brought them into the lounge. “But she’s not my best friend...not like how you _used_ to be.”

Pansy frowned. “Draco…how are you?”

“...I miss you,” Draco said truthfully. “I missed the shit we used to get up to.” He shook his head. “But I understand that your partner comes first, I _know_.”

“I was thinking of starting a family,” Pansy said in a quiet voice.

Draco smiled for her. “Is it too early for congratulations? What else have you been up to?”

The dam bursted, and Pansy talked—a lot about what her partner did, but a lot about what _she_ did too, in her work as editor of the _Witch Weekly_ , the current trends in hot ice cream tea that she had Draco _promise_ they’d both go and try. And Draco shared some of the things that had been happening in _his_ life—his new job, an annoying coworker, his impromptu trip to Scotland.

“No _way_ ,” Pansy said, horrified. “Next time, I’m taking you with me to Milan. No, don’t look at me like that, just you, me, and Blaise. Eating ice cream and being horrified at tourists.”

Draco couldn’t say thank you. Instead, he drank tea to soothe the lump in his throat.

Pansy dragged him out to dinner at a new muggle molecular gastronomy place, and as promised, they both tried hot ice cream tea, which went well with the cold weather. There was critique of the food, and there was nostalgic reminiscing of their teenage years.

“Next time,” Pansy said at the end of the night, after a tight hug, “Don’t hesitate to send me an owl!”

“Next time, _you_ send _me_ an owl,” Draco said. They parted ways, and Draco returned home. A little sad. A little nostalgic already, but feeling better for it.

  
  


After that, Draco started contacting each of his old friends, one by one. It was good to catch up with them. Whether they had changed too much to continue to be close friends going forward, Draco didn’t know. But he wouldn’t know if he didn’t try.

  
  


Meanwhile, Harry came back, again and again, and Harry’s softness and brightness and _Harryness_ started to permeate the flat. It wasn’t the same as when they were flatmates. It wasn’t the same when they were friends-with-occasional-benefits. Draco thought it was because they were different people now. They had both grown their separate ways. What he marvelled in was that they _fitted_ together in the current. What he marvelled was how they were getting to know each other all over again, how _new_ it felt, yet how _nostalgic_ it was when they found that some things remained the same.

“Do you still live in that flat?”

Harry didn’t. He and his partner, back then, had moved to a different place. But Harry invited him over to his current flat, and it was _Draco_ ’s turn to learn Harry’s new space. The changed wardrobe, the proliferation of photos of friends and loved ones, the growing stack of broomsticks.

“I can’t help but buy the latest model,” Harry said sheepishly. “And if I don’t buy it, those companies often give one to me _anyway_.”

They went flying after that, over the hills, far away. They pranked sheep, raced against unknowing muggle cars, and dined in some hole-in-the-wall pub.

Draco liked how Harry’s eyes were brighter. How they were no longer red-rimmed like that day he’d shown up. He liked how Harry didn’t seem so far away anymore, how Harry _looked_ at him. Draco liked how he saw Harry, and how it felt to be seen in return.

Draco liked to joke when he caught Harry looking at him, faint smile on his face. He would wrestle with Harry, and make him laugh. But truthfully, he didn’t mind those moments. It would be hypocritical of him: he had caught himself doing exactly the same.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, after one of those times.

“You have work tomorrow, Mr Potter,” Draco replied.

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up from its prior serious frown. “You’re such a git.”

“And yet, here we are,” Draco drawled, reclining back. Harry’s eyes flashed with heat, and it was inevitable for Harry to straddle him and kiss him.

  
  


Draco met with his mother on the last Sunday of every month. Sometimes, he saw his father too, but not always. Draco was a dutiful son. His parents may have not liked his work at the Ministry, but Draco always made sure to keep up to date with his share of the Malfoy holdings. He obediently followed his mother as she showed him the winter roses that had come to bloom. He quietly gave suggestions when asked about the set of rooms his mother was now renovating. He kept his mouth shut when his mother hinted about the upcoming marriage season.

“The Greengrass’s youngest daughter is available,” Narcissa said, as she pushed a lock of Draco’s hair behind his ear.

“Mum…”

“Darling. I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Are you lonely?” Draco asked. He couldn’t lie point-blank to his mother. “Are you lonely, even though you have Father?”

Narcissa gave him a sad smile. “This is about you, my dragon.”

“Mum, do you talk to aunt Andromeda? She’s your _sister_...the only close family we have left on the Black side. I bet she’s _much_ better company than Father, and I imagine she misses you too.”

“ _Draco_.” Narcissa’s tone was sharp, and Draco bowed his head.

“Sorry, Mum,” he mumbled.

“You mean well, but it’s complicated.”

“But you have _time_ now to fix those complications!” Draco insisted. “I don’t want you to regret it, Mum. I can’t imagine what having siblings was like. However...Mum, I want to meet my aunt too.”

“Your father only wanted one child. Succession issues, in the old days,” Narcissa said tightly. “Draco, you can’t imagine the _words_ we exchanged when Andi left.”

Draco became rebellious, and gave his mum a hug. “Can I visit every week?” he asked, face pressed into his mum’s shoulder.

“—Of _course_ , Draco! Why on earth did you think I wouldn’t welcome it?”

Draco withdrew, and gave a quirk of a smile. “Some of the kids used to call me mummy's boy, whenever you sent me chocolates.”

Narcissa scowled, and looked like she could kill someone. “Well, don’t listen to them! You’ll always be my son, and I’ll always be your mother.”

They shared smiles, and continued walking down the winter garden.

 _How strange, to become friends with one’s parents_ , Draco mused. _How strange, if parent and child disliked each other so much that they would not be friends as adults_.

“Ah, darling, don’t think you can escape me,” Narcissa said pointedly. “You used to get along with Astoria Greengrass back at Hogwarts.”

“...I lied in my letters,” Draco shamefully admitted. “She was just so _studious_ , and didn’t care for _any_ of my plots.”

Narcissa sighed. “Oh, dear.”

“But Mum, I’m not lonely.” _Not all the time. I just need to remember that there_ are _people who care. People who will be there if I’m brave enough to call_.

Narcissa gave him an encouraging look, her eyes searching.

“...And there _has_ been a romantic entanglement,” Draco admitted. He didn’t meet his mother’s eyes. “I don’t know if it’ll last. I don’t know if it’ll fade. But maybe, if it’s long term, if they’re willing, then I bring them over for tea one day.”

“... _Them_?”

“Them,” Draco repeated.

Understanding dawned on Narcissa’s face. “I see. Then...I have to trust you and leave that to you.”

“Is Father having lunch with us today?”

“If you request it, he will.”

If Draco was telling his mother to mend fences with Andromeda, then he’d have to mend fences with his father too. “Tell him I want to talk to him after lunch—by myself, Mum.”

Narcissa smiled.

Draco ended up having a shouting match with his father. They may have broken some furniture, and they may have bonded, just a little, at fixing said furniture together. They weren’t friends, not by a long shot, but Draco left feeling that he no longer needed to avoid his father at all costs.

  
  


“What are those?” Harry motioned to the robes Draco had hanging in front of his wardrobe.

“The Ministry wide event next week,” Draco said. “I thought perhaps the Unspeakables should make _some_ kind of showing.” Truthfully, it was because he was feeling better, and some of his work colleagues were planning to come too.

Harry’s face was frozen.

Draco rolled his eyes, and poked him the side. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Ugh, you _prat_ ,” Harry pushed down on the bed and landed a wet kiss on Draco’s nose. “That’s what _you_ get.”

“Those dark blue robes you have should be sufficient,” Draco recalled. “A touch out of season, but the alteration to fit the new silhouette is minor. I can come over and do it for you.”

Harry flashed a quick smile. “Thanks.” He got up and fingered the material of Draco’s robes: dark blue-purple, with pinpricks of stars, and faint lines to show the constellations. The design shifted as the seasons shifted, but in the few minutes, there was no discernable change. “Is this new?”

“It’s my mother’s, actually,” Draco said. “She let out the allowance for me, opened the shoulders and arms. Can you make out the faint off-shade of blue? That’s the extra fabric we put in.” It wasn’t _quite_ in style either, but the lines helped enhance the robes, and perhaps Draco could set a _new_ style.

Harry sighed and stepped away. Draco got up. “What’s wrong?”

“You're lucky to have your mum’s robes.”

Draco thought for a moment. “How about the Potter vaults? You might be able to find some robes there.”

Harry’s eyes shone. “You think?”

“Have you ever _looked_?”

  
  


The next day, Harry came over with an armful of fabric. “I didn’t find any robes, but I found these.”

Draco spelled them to all stand up. There were a couple of sherwani, from various eras, and indo-western styles with asymmetric cuts, English fabric, and a different silhouette. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t bring the undergarments that would have accompanied them.

“Have you ever worn these before?” Draco asked.

“Only at Parvati and Lavender’s wedding. They had insisted,” Harry said, eyeing the sherwani. “But I don’t feel...I grew up with white muggles, you know. I don’t _feel_ Indian, even though I look it.”

Draco bowed his head. “Let’s try a combination,” he suggested somberly. “These sherwani are too cool for the current weather anyway. We’ll layer it with one of your robes.”

Together, they flooed to Harry’s place. With Harry’s dark blue robes, Draco thought the lighter blue sherwani would work.

“But they don’t _match_ ,” Harry insisted.

“They do.”

“It’s—too similar to your robes, but not different enough.” Harry reached for the one with a jacquard weave that shimmered.

“You want _more_ detail?”

Harry faltered for a moment, but then firmly nodded. “I think this one.”

So Draco acquiesced, and helped modify the clothes to Harry’s frame and the current silhouette. He enjoyed the process of taking the clothes _off_ Harry afterwards too, kissing every part, “All the better to tailor your clothes to accentuate your figure, Harry.”

  
  


The sun was down, and the night quiet. Draco was relaxed, smiling openly, fondly at Harry lying across from him.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “What are you looking at?”

“Merely your kissable lips.”

Harry snorted. Shifted closer, as his lips twisted in seriousness, and his eyes sombre. “Draco…” he murmured. “All those years ago...I didn’t think it was a big deal. People our age have casual sex all the time.”

“It was my fault. I never said anything,” Draco murmured back.

“Still.” Harry tangled his legs with Draco’s.

“Was I good?”

“ _Oh—_ Draco! Yes, yes you were,” Harry admitted. “You bastard.” His voice lowered. “That’s why I kept coming back.”

“...Sometimes, I wished you would stay, if I was good enough.”

“I wished I asked.” Harry sighed. “We could have had so many more years together.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Potter,” Draco said, tapping Harry on the nose. “I expect to live to at least two hundred. A few years is a but a tiny drop.”

“You’re soooo cheesy, darling Draco,” Harry said. He tilted his head and licked Draco’s fingers. Draco let him, slipping the fingers in deeper.

“Mmm. And really, it just goes to show you that I really _am_ the best.”

Harry pushed Draco’s hand away and rolled on top. “Confident, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco leered up at him, and rubbed Harry’s thighs straddled on either side of him, going closer and closer... “Oh, but I am. Care to confirm yourself?”

Harry smirked back, but then his smile softened. “Before your _report_ , I just wanted to say—the sex wasn’t enough because I wanted everything else too. But _neither_ of us asked. Neither of us tried.”

Draco felt wistful. If he had...but the past could not be changed; even time turners only made a past that was already consistent with the present.

Draco lifted his hand and traced Harry’s cheek. “But we’re doing that now.”

“We’re doing that now,” Harry confirmed, and leaned down to kiss him. More than words, their actions showed, and Draco could believe that they finally both understood each other.

  
  


  
  


The Ministry event was on Friday the 14th, February, and Draco met with his colleagues first in the Mysteries’ tea room.

“...Why is there mistletoe?”

“We thought it would be appropriate for Valentines,” the Unspeakable who worked in the Love Room said.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dear Merlin, _why_.”

“Oh, Mister doom-and-gloom,” the Unspeakable retorted. “Are we ready to go now?”

All the Unspeakables were wearing dark robes, partly because they had planned to, and partly because dark robes were easy to find.

The Ministry event was some charity occasion, and aside from the overabundance of red roses, the decoration was fairly tasteful.

The different Departments stuck together; it was only when Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt opened the dance floor with Head of DMLE Gawain Robards did people start to mingle.

Draco hung back with his colleagues though. Unspeakables were a natural isolated bunch...and Harry was busy with his friends.

“Draco! I didn’t realise you were still around.” It was one of Draco’s old colleagues from International Relations.

“And I see you’re still hanging on,” Draco replied, greeting them with a handshake. It was pleasant to catch up with them—and they pulled Draco along to greet his other old colleagues too.

“Oh, _gosh_ , look, is that Potter?”

Draco turned to look with the rest of them: Harry was standing near the window, and he was framed so _beautifully_ that Draco’s chest tightened. The curve, the pull, the flare of his clothes…

“Ohmygod, do you think they’re getting back together?”

And Draco saw Harry’s ex, the one that had Harry on Draco’s doorstep, eyes red-rimmed. Standing close. Talking about something. Harry’s ex had an armful of luscious roses. Their pale robes brought a lovely contrast with Harry, and Draco was sure that they were a nice person, and breakups just _happen_ , sometimes, but no mental reassurances could stop the thought that _maybe they are getting back together_.

Harry’s gaze skipped over them, and then focused on Draco. Draco smiled and nodded encouragingly.

He did _not_ expect Harry to suddenly head his way. Harry’s ex quickly followed him; Draco’s old colleagues took a half step back.

“This is Draco, remember?” Harry told his ex.

“Your old flatmate, right?” his ex nodded, and smiled warmly at Draco. They were exactly Harry’s type. “But Harry—” they said, holding out the flowers.

Harry shook his head, and gazed at Draco. “I can’t accept them romantically.” He gripped Draco’s arm, fingers sliding down until they slipped in-between Draco’s and fitting _just so_.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Draco whispered.

“You know,” Harry said. He pressed a kiss on the back of Draco’s hand. He slowly tugged Draco to the dance floor, through the watching crowd. “And sometimes, I want everyone else to know too.”

 _Oh_. Fondness flowed in Draco’s chest. But he wasn’t going to let Harry get away with it.

So, Draco let out a low sigh, and shook his head in exasperation. He pulled Harry close, rested hand on his waist. “If I had known wanted to dance, I would have given you intensive lessons.”

Harry grinned, his eyes soft. “I didn’t exactly plan this.” He leaned in. “I just hoped.” He stepped on Draco’s toe, so Draco manhandled him into place.

“ _Intensive_ lessons,” Draco repeated. He glanced over Harry’s shoulder. “Weasley looks like he’s about to jump me. Granger’s barely holding him back.”

Harry gave a half chuckle. “They’ll get over it. Maybe we could have a double date.”

“It would be better if I talked to each of them separately,” Draco said seriously.

“Mmhhm.”

Draco stuck through it for as long as the song, and then he took them off the dance floor. “Save the rest for tonight,” Draco said. “I will _not_ have this event become our date.”

Harry pouted.

Draco flicked him between the eyebrows. “ _No,_ Harry. _You_ have damage control with your friends.” Draco glanced over at his colleagues. “And I have questions to fend off.”

As an Unspeakable, Draco was _great_ at fending off questions. “That’s classified,” he told quite a few of them. “Under the pain of an Unbreakable,” he told some of the others. He was good at sorting between the gossip hounders and the ones that were genuine. He was already planning how he’d break the news to his mother, to his friends, and how he’ll have to do it _before_ this broke the papers the next day.

But it was worth it.

And when he caught Harry’s eye across the hall, he couldn’t help but smile back.

  
  


  
  


_The End._

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, I recommend my [Lost Among And Falling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758301).


End file.
